


milf (mother i'd like to fang)

by insanetwin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, It's done, It's over, MILF, Swan Queen Week Summer 2017, Vampires, but only once because cs is cancelled, garbage, it's dead in the water my friends, the wedding is mentioned once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanetwin/pseuds/insanetwin
Summary: regina gets "accidentally" turned into a vampire and the only way she can break the spell is if she bites somebody. and she's like... awkward about it





	milf (mother i'd like to fang)

**Author's Note:**

> wowza! this is really...just self-indulgent garbage! there's your one and only warning! i'm still in a really busy grad program but i guess i am Also willing to make time for 8k of silly trash so ! shocking truth about me: i am weak for these two gay moms

“Oh, damn,” Regina sighs, and pokes the tip of her tongue tentatively against the sharpened canine teeth now making small indents into her bottom lip. Feeling the sharp glide of real --  _ real _ \-- fangs, Regina purses her lips and grimly sets her hand mirror down, folding her hands over her mayoral desk. “Zelena,” she sighs. “Why is it that you  _ always  _ have to make my life so difficult?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, I don’t  _ always _ ,” Zelena squints a look at the spellbook still in her arms. She idly runs the side of her fingertip against her chin as she reads. “You know? I think I know what must have happened. I translated the spell wrong. It’s in the old language -- I haven’t practiced that in years.”

“Oh, well. Completely understandable then.” 

“Too bad. You would have enjoyed my original spell,” Zelena says and sits down in one of her sister’s chairs with a deep sigh. Leaning forward, she rests her sharp elbows on Regina’s desk, the way she does when waiting on new gossip. “So, how does it feel?” she grins, resting her cheek on her knuckles. “You don’t feel like killing people, do you?”

“Just one, really,” Regina sighs, and picks up the pen she’d been holding before all this happened. But upon looking down at the whole pile of paperwork she needs to finish up today, she feels a distracting pull of hunger in her stomach, blurring her purpose. She tries to settle her mind over the details of her work -- there’s the rezoning of Fanferluche’s land, answering referrals for future business planning, and all the other day-to-day business that seems to always be waiting for her at the door.

But after only a few minutes of steady work, she feels her tongue idly poking at her fangs, the way a finger idly worries over a splinter. Her throat tightens, uncomfortably dry. 

“Zelena,” She groans after a moment, dropping her head into her hands. “How long is this going to  _ last _ ?”

Zelena shrugs. “I’m really not sure,” she absentmindedly taps her fingers against her lips, glances back down at her spell book. “I mean, it can’t be too long, the spell wasn’t that powerful, but...” she shrugs again, looking up with her bright, blue eyes, but for a undeniable moment, some private pleasure sparks in them, making Regina feel, not for the first time, foolishly guileless in her sister's presence. To have believed Zelena on instinct, merely because her payoff is too senseless and difficult to comprehend. 

She flattens her brow, glaring darkly from over her black-rimmed reading glasses. “What are you up to, Zelena?”

“Nothing,” Zelena arranges her expression to feign hurt and surprise, but Regina remains unmoved. “Oh, Regina, you are so  _ suspicious _ . Honestly, what could I possibly have to gain by turning my sister into a vampire? For the chances of getting a target on my back? I don’t think so.” 

She rests her chin against her knuckles, glaring darkly, but Zelena merely rolls her eyes, uncaring if she is believed or not. 

“So,” Zelena says, after a moment. There is that sparkle again, that hidden pleasure. “You thirsty?”

Regina glowers, but, involuntarily swallows. She resists the urge to clear her throat and make obvious the sudden dryness she’s experiencing. 

Zelena merely laughs at her, and stands up. “Yeah, thought so,” Pulling her purse over her shoulder, she winks and reaches for Regina with wiggling fingers. “Come on, little sis, I’ll help.”

***

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on.”

“No, Zelena. I’m not asking. This is...it’s too weird.”

“Yeah, okay it’s a little weird,” Zelena smiles agreeably, pushing on Regina’s shoulders a little harder to better navigate her towards the office door. On a shuttered window, big black letters splay out: SHERIFF. “But come on. Emma would literally die for you. You’re her best friend, the mother of her son. I’m sure she’d be  _ more than  _ happy to let you feed off of her.”

Grimacing, Regina sharply steps out of her sister’s grip. “That’s a mighty thing to assume,” she snaps. She can only imagine the kind of look Emma would give her, the way she’d puzzle through her words with that baffled, smiling look of hers, furrowing her brow deeper and deeper until what she is being asked of starts to make sense, and the slow-dawning look of understanding shrinks their friendship in her eyes. What if it changes how Emma sees her? What if Regina  _ hurts  _ her? She couldn’t survive that. 

Zelena sighs. “God, you’re so dramatic. So what, you get a little blood, Emma gets a love bite. It’s a win win.”

“No,” Regina says, firming with resolve as she sets a heeled foot back down on the cracked sidewalk. “I’m not asking her. We... can just find someone else. Or, I don’t know, get blood bags. Don’t we have a Red Cross?” 

“Regina,” Zelena groans. “ _ Honestly _ ? Emma would  _ jump  _ at the chance to get your mouth on her, and you’re backing out because you’re afraid of hurting her  _ feelings _ ?”

“What?” She asks, baffled. “What do you mean by that?”

Zelena rolls her eyes up to the sky, but before Regina can pursue an answer, there is a light tinkling of bells, a sure sign of the Sheriff door opening.

“Regina,” Emma’s surprised voice booms abruptly. When she notices Regina’s distress, however, she immediately halts in place; her face tightens with the sharp, earnest attention of hers that always reminds Regina of a dog -- she has that same devotion, the firm resolve to worry over a small band of people all her life.  “Is everything okay?” she asks.

There aren’t so many truthful ways to answer that question, and preparing a lie clever enough to skirt past Emma’s lie-detector is a difficult task, one she’s still not entirely sure she’s ever done successfully. And so as she stalls, Zelena cuts in, taking advantage.

“Regina wants to ask you something, actually,” Her sister smiles, that sharp bird-dog smile. “Don’t you, Regina?”

Emma turns to face her, eyes rapt with attention. A soft tremble of tenderness closes around Regina’s heart, bundling in her throat. 

“Oh, well you know. I ...just wanted to ask...” She pauses, helplessly putting on a smile as the impossibility of such a request stumps her. How can she possibly put it in words?  _ I want to bite you, but please don’t think I’m exploiting our close friendship, I just really don’t want my mouth on anyone else -- _ With a shaky breath, she asks, “Can I take you out to lunch?”

Zelena groans. 

“Oh,” Emma smiles, letting out a short laugh. Her shoulders relax. “Yeah, sure. God, Regina - you had me worried for a second.”

“Yeah, me too,” Zelena sighs dryly, and flicks away a strand of hair. When Emma gives her a quick, puzzled look, Zelena offers only a banal smile. “Never mind me. I should have known my sister would have needed to go on a date first.”

The elbow she directs to Zelena’s stomach isn’t nearly hard enough to hurt her, but she wishes it was.

_

A waitress comes to their table with two cups of late-day, bottom-of-the-pot coffee sludge. Regina graciously declines, the very smell of it making her stomach clench, but Emma smiles and accepts her cup, just as sold as she always is on complimentary food or drink. 

“Ready to order?” The waitress asks, popping her gum --she’s a new hire, one of the many in this town who seem to remember Regina only as a small-town mayor who occasionally saves the day, and thus appears merely disinterested by Regina’s pointed look. She doesn’t miss being feared, but the service did seem much better.  

“I think we’ll take a few more minutes,” Regina says, and decides to smile, to show off the teeth a little. But the waitress merely rolls her eyes and nods, leaving behind their menus. Emma, oblivious to all, snatches them up eagerly, as if she were planning on ordering anything other than her usual.

“Oh, what?” Regina teases gently, amused. “No grilled cheese today?” 

“Hey, you know, I try new things sometimes,” After a moment, as Emma roves up and down the list, she nods to herself and folds the menu again, setting it down. “Okay, so I’m not adventurous. I can accept that about myself.” 

Regina laughs, and then swiftly closes her mouth again, just in case her sharpened teeth can be seen. She looks on Emma warmly though, and resists the urge to glance down to her neck where the soft thrum of her heart continues to beat a little louder than usual, with just a little more gusto. Is that only her imagination? Perhaps. But the sound of her heart seems to be growing louder and louder, swelling, joining the quiet paltry sounds of the dinner. It’s oddly calming. Alluring. Emma is here, bright and thrumming with life.

If she could just find the right words... maybe she could explain that the pain wouldn’t be so bad at all, small as a bee sting. Not so bad, really. And she’d of course be very  _ very  _ gentle. 

“Hey,” Emma’s voice brings her up again, and Regina jolts in surprise, realizing with a stinging embarrassment that she has been staring helplessly at Emma’s neck for the last few minutes. She straightens immediately, offering a smiling mask of calm, but it must not be very convincing, because the touch of worry at the edge of Emma’s eyes only deepens. 

“You okay?” Emma asks, after a beat.

“Of course,” Regina says immediately, a little too quick. 

Emma narrows her eyes a little. “You sure?” Regina can see her going through an intricate reassessment, looking for any visible symptoms of some hidden pain; Regina tries to go over the possible signs in her own head: any strange marks? no. a tired look in her eyes? maybe. strange new pointy teeth? well. “What’s going on?” Emma asks at last, frowning.

Regina manages a strained little laugh. “What? Can’t I take my friend out for lunch?”

“Sure you can” Emma says, and slowly sets down her coffee cup. She is dithering, likely deliberating whether she should gamble for a few direct questions -- something she almost always avoids doing, for Regina’s own comfort. For a moment, things go dreadfully silent in the small pause between conversation and making decisions. If Emma really wanted to know, if she asked, Regina’s not sure if she’d be able to lie. Not convincingly, at least. “Still,” Emma says, at last, seemingly deciding to go easy on her. “You seem a little off. I just... you know, hope you’re doing okay.”

Relaxing a little, Regina smiles, unable to help herself. In the face of terrible curses and humiliating mishaps, she can always count on Emma to worry over the little things, all the minor disappointments and lonely days that will inevitably cloud over a life. 

“I’m fine.” she lies gently; but maybe it’s not a lie after all, because Emma’s eyes brighten up a little afterwards, and there is only warmth in Regina’s heart. 

In the strong afternoon light, Emma looks so lovely. She’s all soft angles and warm skin; her hair is pulled up into one of those loose, messy ponytails that shows off the soft, rounded curve of her shoulders, the strong bow of her collarbones, the arch of that lovely neck. 

Something soft and electric passes through Regina. Without thinking, she leans forward, sliding her hand over the bony complication of Emma’s wrist. “You worry over me too much,” she says, the soft purr of her voice almost unrecognizable to her. Beneath her fingertips, she can feel the flutter of Emma’s pulse, quickening like a bird.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I do,” Uncertainty enters Emma’s eyes, even as she smiles. “It’s not getting old, is it?” She asks so with a smile. Always, Emma tries to position herself into the kind of person who can make fun of herself, should anyone ever start first.

“No,” Regina coos, a throaty edge in her voice. “No. Not at all.”

Emma flushes in pleasant surprise. Immediately, her cheeks fill with blood, and Regina’s hunger  _ throbs _ , waking her up with a dry snap. Realizing what she’s been doing, she pulls back, face filling with a mute smiling panic. Lord. Never  _ once  _ has she tried to pursue Emma so openly, but apparently, her common sense flees at the slightest inconvenience-- a minor hunger, a little dry throat. 

“Well, you know. I don’t worry without reason,” Emma says, a little shyly, still blushing. And then, just at that moment, when it seems possible she can steer them back to safety, Emma’s face suddenly goes blank. She leans forward, looking at her mouth with a steady, hard gaze. “You’re teeth...” she says, and frowns. “Have they always been that sharp?”

Dread hits her solidly in the stomach. Straightening her shoulders, Regina tries to measure out the emotion in her voice. “I should go.” 

“What?” Emma asks with alarm, but Regina is already standing to her feet. Her hand curls nervously at her side, flexing slightly to try and gather her bearings again. But it’s no use, she can hear Emma following quickly behind. 

“Regina,” Emma’s voice is a barely controlled half-whisper behind her, but Regina ignores it, slipping into the back room and closing the door behind her. There are pictures of ocean liners hanging on the wall, reflecting back the greenish, watery light of the hallway, lining the space between the only two escape routes: the kitchen door and the small multiple-stalled bathroom. 

Neither promise much of a safe haven, but as the door handle wiggles back and forth beneath her hands, trying to push against her solid weight, she makes a decision. And darts into one of the bathroom doors.

Really, what had she been expecting? Nothing, and yet, upon walking into the bright, yellow-tiled bathroom, her chest still wells with dismay at finding herself suddenly and unexpectedly cornered. 

“Fuck,” she mutters softly.

A moment later, she’s discovered again. Emma barrels in after her, clumsy with worry. “Hey!” she exclaims, and then, seeing Regina cornered, she blocks the door, her shoulders becoming as broad as a quarterbacks’, as if she expected Regina might feign a pass and slip past her. “What is going on? Why did you run off? What the hell?” 

“Emma,” she sighs. 

“And look at those teeth!” Emma asks, floored. With a grimace, Regina glances furtively back at one of the silver mirrors, touching base with her reflection. Could her fangs have somehow gotten even larger, just to humiliate her? Anything seems possible. “Regina, what the hell?” 

She sighs, touches a weary hand to her forehead. “Look,” she sighs. “It’s...it was a recent development. Zelena decided to throw a little wrench in my day, as usual, and put a spell on me.” 

“Holy shit,” Emma says. Her face is softening into something like awe, forgetting her previous worry as she moves forward. In the small, empty bathroom, the sound of Emma’s heart is loud and booming, nearly echoic, as if it were being played through loudspeakers. Regina swallows tightly. “Well. They sure look cool. Do you know how to break the spell?” 

At the thought, her eyes flutter close. Pressing the nail of her thumb into her palm, she tries to keep back her thoughts. But Emma is already so close, nearly an arm's-length away. All she’d have to do is reach out for her and Emma would fill the space without question. It could be that simple -- she could just lean in and kiss the skin, suck it in her mouth. It’d be just a soft bite. Like Zelena said. A love bite. 

“Emma...” she sighs. “Don’t...come any closer.”

Her eyes are still closed, but she can hear Emma’s heart flutter, t00-quick before it slows again. She stops, asks. “Why?’ tentatively 

“Because...I’m...” Regina emits a soft, embarrassed laugh, and opens her eyes again. “Well. I’m afraid the spell didn’t come with just the teeth.”

It takes a moment, but then Emma gently inclines her chin in understanding, a soft  sympathetic “Ohh,” leaving her. She nods her head. “Okay. So...you’re hungry, then?”

“Very.”

There’s a blank pause, filled with quiet. A faucet drips, dotting the silence with expectation. 

When Regina finally looks into Emma’s face again, she’s surprised to find an uncharacteristically bold look of mirth on her face. “Is this why you took me out for lunch?” She asks, brazen, as a brightness tinkles in her eyes. “Were you hoping I might return the favor?” 

Humiliation is quick to press down on her heart. She steps back a step, but before she can go any further, Emma quickly arrests her in her arms. 

“Woah, wait,” Emma says, and gently squeezes her, immediately remorseful. “I’m sorry, I -- I wasn’t making fun of you -- I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Well, don’t.” she snaps.

“Okay,” Emma says. She doesn’t immediately release Regina, though and in the following silence, she can hear Emma’s heart beating quickly in her chest, as heavy and rhythmic as a drum. Regina closes her eyes and tries not to think about the sweet human smell of her skin, the touch of her hair, her soft, gentle rhythmic heart. “But... um...” Emma clears her throat. “If you  _ did  _ want to bite me... I’d be cool with that.”

Regina opens her eyes again. She stares into Emma’s blushing face, scanning for any signs of doubt or fear. She sees only the deep red of a blush creeping up Emma’s neck. 

“Really?” Regina asks, after a beat. She clears the roughness from her throat. “You’d...want that?” 

“Yeah,” Emma says tremulously, and swallows. Her heart is quickening, thudding in her throat.

Regina’s dry throat throbs. “Okay,” she says. She doesn’t have it in her to put up some ruse of protest, and so very gently, she grips Emma by the arms and helps steer her into one of the empty black-and-green bathroom stalls. A little breathless laugh leaves Emma, and she smiles, settling her hands around Regina’s elbows to follow her lead. 

With one blind hand, Regina flattens the door behind them, flipping the lock. 

But once there, she is struck abruptly with the strangeness of this moment -- everything about it. She pauses, deliberating whether it would be too presumptuous if she were to ask Emma to meet her at her house instead? A bathroom stall just seems a little more cold than she had been imagining. Not that she had been imagining anything, but standing in it now, it seems too bright and shabby, a little too unsentimental.

But, before she can open her mouth, Emma turns and sits down on the toilet lid, settling back with red cheeks. Regina pauses, blinking momentarily at the puzzle of their bodies. Is she supposed to remain standing, and lean over her? Or...

After a beat, Regina decides that the only way either one of them is going to make it through this is to act like this is the most ordinary thing in the world. She can do this with the same simple calm that she treated all the other difficult, necessary things between them, like when she helped unfasten all of the complicated buttons of Emma’s wedding dress so that she could breath, guided her out the back door, got her out of that whole dreadful mess. 

Yes. It can be done just like that.

Lifting her skirt a little, Regina has to step over Emma’s legs one at a time to position herself fully on her lap. As she sinks down, Emma lets out this long, shaky breath and stares down at her legs like this is something a lot more complicated than a simple friendly bite, and without thought, she slides her arms around Emma’s neck to steady herself. 

Emma’s gulp is audible. “Okay,” Her voice is a deep well of emotion, swelling in her throat. The walls seem to echo off the  _ thundering  _ of her heart. “Um. Right, well -- whenever you’re ready.” 

“Right.” Regina breathes quietly. Softly, with deliberation, she leans forward, intending to make this whole thing as quick and simple as possible. 

But as she presses her lips against the soft slope of Emma’s neck, her chin bumps against the curve of a collarbone, and she halts. Slowly, she breathes in. She presses her nose into the underside of Emma’s jaw, smelling the familiar tangy scent of her own conditioner in Emma’s hair and the faint smell of skin beneath that -- like the warmest part of a day.  

Breathing in deeply, Regina’s knuckles tighten around the collar of Emma’s red jacket. She pulls her in even closer.

Something is moving in her blood, something wild and breathless. Maybe the hunger in her gets mixed up with the feelings in her heart, gets lost in it, because suddenly, she’s forgetting the very reason she put her mouth on Emma’s pulse point, and moves instead to the corner of her jaw. 

She presses a soft, sweet kiss against the kiss there, gasping when Emma’s hands move suddenly up the back of her thighs. 

“Oh,” Emma moans, loudly enough to surprise them both. But it doesn’t deter the moment. Emma only tightens the clamp of her fingers around Regina’s hips and Regina returns to her neck, unable to think of anything but the soft skim of Emma’s skin against her mouth -- how it feels to suck the blood up close to the surface, to feel the whole wild ruckus of Emma’s heart between her teeth. She groans, sliding her mouth down the strong column of Emma’s throat, kissing and nipping as she goes. 

She is only dimly aware of the kind of sounds Emma is making -- soft and breathy moans -- but she is more focused on the hot breath on her neck, the feeling of Emma’s fingers pressing to the bone; it makes her feel like a wave being pulled to shore, and with the same swelling depth, she presses on, roving her mouth eagerly up Emma’s chin, across her cheek, leaving lost, breathless kisses along the side of her mouth.

Had the bathroom door not suddenly been pushed open, filtering in the idle chatter of customers, they might have continued, tumbling dangerously to irrevocable waters. 

But instead, she jerks back. Emma’s wild eyes blink open, dark and disoriented. With her head still tilted back, Regina blinks with mute disbelief at the mottled flesh her mouth had left behind. There are the smudges of her lipstick, the normal red of blushing skin, and then, all along Emma’s neck, the  _ very  _ obvious sign of hickies --  all dark and purple and nearly as large as her thumb.

“Oh damn.” she whispers, dismayed. 

Emma blinks again, struggling to pull herself together. But as the voices along the bathroom grow louder, filling with the ordinary clamor of purses, shoes, and talk, a disastrous swell of terror lifts up in Regina’s throat. 

Quickly standing, she swings her leg up off Emma’s lap, removing herself. 

“Oh shoot -- Regina, wait.” Emma tries to reach out for her, but Regina is already gone, disappearing in a swirl of purple smoke. 

She reappears in her mayoral office with a wild, beating heart. Her office is quiet, full of the stale cool air and the soft, inner click of passing time. Slowly, Regina raises a trembling hand to her lips, touching with two fingers the soft, warm memory of Emma’s skin. 

“Damn.” she whispers again, even quieter. 

*

Regina is sulking. She doesn’t mean to -- in fact, she had every intention to sit down and at least be productive. But sometime in the last hour, she turned her office chair to stare out the window instead. It is a cool, clear day, and if she looks down the street far enough, she can see the small white porches of other families, where brown leaves are piled in small hills and pumpkins grin on every doorstep. In another few days, children will be dressing up in costumes, ringing her doorbell with demands for candy. She should text her son now and tell him to forget their plans to coordinate their family’s costumes this year. With her luck she’ll be a vampire for the rest of her life.

On her desk, her phone starts buzzing again. With a slight grimace, Regina mutes it with just a wave of her hand, knowing it must be Emma trying to call her for the hundredth time. 

After another hour, Regina has turned her chair back to her desk, and is gradually approaching the idea of actually starting work again, but she is not very successful. Just as she is opening her laptop, her sisters strolls in.

“Hey little sis,” Zelena smirks. With a deep breath, Regina attempts to narrow all of her fury and humiliation into one spot on her sister’s forehead, but Zelena merely chuckles and approaches her desk anyway. “So I noticed Emma’s wearing a lovely little scarf today. Did the two of you have fun?”

Regina sighs. “Not now, Zelena.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so dramatic -- she enjoyed herself, didn’t she?”

A squirming embarrassment presses itself into her stomach, draws lines around her mouth. Instead of responding, she turns her eyes back onto her computer, half-believing that her sister will simply leave if not acknowledged. 

She doesn’t. After a moment, Zelena puts her hands on the smooth surface of her desk, looks down at her with sharp narrowed eyes.

“Regina,” Zelena sighs, after a beat, and briskly leans over to grasp Regina’s chin. Regina tries to jerk away, but the fingers around her chin tighten, forcing her mouth open. Her sister looks down on her with steady, hard eyes, a look of pure annoyance. “Regina, your fangs are supposed to be gone. They’re supposed to disappear after you draw blood!”

Jerking her chin away, Regina glowers resentfully. “Well. Sorry to have ruined your plan, or whatever you thought this stupid spell would achieve.”

“Regina,” Zelena groans, and rubs an exasperated hand across her face. “You were supposed to  _ bite  _ her. I genuinely don’t understand how this could have happened. Did you somehow forget to _ bite down  _ in all that time you spent sucking her neck?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks. “Stop. I’m serious this time, Zelena. I have absolutely no patience with being teased right now,” Regina glares darkly down at her desk. A picture of Henry and Emma smiles back at her, their faces bright and happy and scrunched from squinting back at the winter light. She sighs, touching a hand to her forehead. “In fact, you should just leave. I have a lot of work to do, and this little adventure has done nothing but humiliate me.”

There’s a pause. Regina doesn’t turn to look at her, but she can hear her sister moving closer. The sound of her high-heeled boots on her carpeted floor is as light as rain. 

“Regina,” Zelena sighs. Her voice sounds surprisingly soft, in a way she so rarely ever does. (Regina knows her sister loves her, loves her very deeply in fact, but she so rarely ever knows how to show it. Neither of them do). “This isn’t going away. I’m sorry, but you can’t just bury yourself in work. It’s not going to be over until you bite someone.”

For a brief moment, Regina wonders whether she should feign surprise that her suspicions had been correct, that this spell had in fact been enacted with intent. But she decides against it, too weary, too tired for the task.

She merely sighs. “Why did you do this to me, Zelena?”

Her sister frowns. “Well. I didn’t mean for it to become so tragic,” she sits down on the corner of her sister’s desk. “In fact, I thought it’d be kind of fun for you. Fun for you both,” her smile broadens, crinkling her eyes. “Emma always seemed like the kind of person who’d be into getting bitten.”

She lets out a flat sound of displeasure, and turns to look out the window. Yellow and red leaves have started to gather like wet cement on the tiles of her roof and window sills. Normally, she’d ask Emma to clean them up. She thinks she’ll wait on asking any more favors.

“I think it’d be best if it was someone else.” Regina says, at last.

Concern ripples across Zelena’s face. “Why?”

Regina sighs, and closes her eyes, suddenly deeply tired. She sinks back into the deep leather of her chair. “Because. It’s going to ruin everything,” she says, and looks up to the white stucco ceiling. “I have feelings for her, if you remember. Very deep ones. And if I can’t separate those feelings from this, then I refuse to put her in a situation where she has to deal with ...something she didn’t sign up for.” 

“But,” Zelena lets out an incredulous laugh. “Regina -- she likes you back. You gotta see that. At least  _ now _ ,” The expression on Zelena’s face gradually sours under the focus of Regina’s glare, scrunching her face together as if she were sucking a lemon. “Great. Go find yourself a totally random, meaningless person instead,” she snaps. As she stands, she glances incidentally down at Regina’s silently buzzing phone. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” she sighs, and throws the phone at her. “At least answer your girlfriend’s texts.”

Regina fumbles for her phone clumsily, catching it finally between her two wrists. She looks up with her fiercest glare, but her sister is already gone. 

And so, guiltily, she looks down at her screen. It’s completely cluttered by texts and missed phone calls, creating a thread so long she has to scroll down with her thumb for what feels like a minute.

At the end, she finds Emma’s last, halting text:  _ Are we gonna give it another try? _

She sighs, and texts back:  _ I think it would be best if I found someone else. _

Almost immediately, three gray dots pop up, as if Emma had been staring at her phone, waiting for an answer. Terrified, Regina drops her phone onto her desk -- but after a few minutes of no response, she peeks over to see the three dots have disappeared. They pop up again, and then disappear again. Again and again, they appear and pop off screen, with such rapidity, that staring at it begins to harden Regina’s stomach with nerves.

She’s tentatively filling out a budget report by the time her phone buzzes again, nearly fifteen minutes later. 

When she looks over, she half-expects some long-worded accusation, but all she finds is the single word:  _ why?  _

_ It’s for the best, Emma.  _ she types back. And then nearly adds: _ Right?  _ Because it should be obvious to Emma. It should be a relief. Why would Regina need to explain it?

She waits.

When her phone lights up again, filling her office with a blue, aquarius light, her stomach drops to find only a short and resolute:  _ Fine.  _ And then silence.

*

The problem is, Regina doesn’t know that many people she’d feel comfortable asking. Or putting her mouth on, at all. It all just feels too intimate, too vulnerable. There’d be no simple, straightforward way to go about asking either -- she’d have to explain the context, offer herself up for rejection (she’s never been all that good at at), and possibly have to face that person afterwards. Awful.

She puts it off, driving into her work with a steady, thoughtless absorption. Work had always had a lulling effect on her, a call that could carry her for hours, so she lets it carry her, tunneling her through minor paperwork, missed phone calls, and unanswered emails until her throat is as dry and arid as a dead lot of land. 

When her son walks into her office, Regina doesn’t even hear him, still absorbed into work.She only lifts her head at the faint clicking of the door closing, just in time to catch the mini explosion of light from her son’s phone.

Rapidly, Regina blinks, leaning back. “Darling, what was that?”

“Snapchat,” he says, smiling. He is still wearing his school uniform -- a blue blazer, with a red handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket. As he plops his backpack down onto one of her office chairs and collapses into the seat closest to her, she catches a look of worry flicker across his face, his eyes still directed down at his phone. “Hey, Mom, you know, your teeth look kinda sharp today”

“Oh,” she says, and struggles to swallow. Her thirst has worsened, turned cold and dry like the arctic, and for a moment, all she can see is the phosphenes image of her son’s fearful loathing, when he was young and afraid, and had known her as an entirely different kind of monster. But it’s been years since she’d had lied to him, and she isn’t about to start now. “It’s a spell,” she lets her hum roll dryly over her resentment. “Your aunt thought it would be funny to turn me into a vampire for the day.” 

“Oh, okay,” Henry says, and shrugs, seemingly unperturbed. He turns back to his phone, gliding his thumb over his phone. “Hey, what filter should I pick?”

Regina drops her pen, leaning back into her chair. She can see over his shoulder, to a picture of herself. It’s not that it’s unflattering, it is simply the most terrifying picture she has ever seen of herself. On the bottom, having clearly borrowed from some stereotypical Nosferatu scene, he has written out,  _ I VANT TO SUCK UR BLOOD _ in large white letters. Immediately, she tries to snatch the phone from her son’s hands. 

“Hey!” he  laughs, and stands to gets out of her reach. “Okay, fine I’m picking the black and white one -- Mom,” he laughs, dodging her again. “Stop, you look fine.”

“Henry, give me the phone!”

“It’s just going to Ma!”

“Henry!” she gasps, and quickly rounds the desk, trying to trap her suddenly lithe, monkey-boy of a son. “ _ Henry _ ! Give me the phone!”

“Okay, okay!” he says, easing up, but as he passes the phone over, Regina’s thumb accidentally touches the box beside Emma’s name, sending the picture immediately. Both Regina and Henry blink, and look down at the red arrow beside Emma’s name. 

Humiliated, Regina slowly closes her eyes. “Alright,” she draws in a carefully controlled breath. “Is there any way we can somehow destroy her phone before she sees it?” 

“I mean, I guess,” Henry’s brows deepen with concern. “But why? Did you really not want Ma to know?”

“No, it’s not that,” The truth sits like a rock in her heart, waiting to be heaved up to the light and unfoil into the kind of story that will undoubtedly weigh against her, no matter how she tells it. “She already knows.”

“Oh, okay,” Henry says, and shrugs, reaching over to pluck one of her red apples from the basket on her desk. The apple looks as small and solid as a baseball in his growing hands. “So why are you so nervous?”

There is no other way to say it. “To break the spell, I have to bite someone.”

Henry’s eyes widen a little. Silently, he falls into one of his contemplative looks, reassessing, resizing, recalculating the scene. 

After a beat, he bites into his apple, and as he is still chewing, asks. “So you asked Ma?”

She frowns, and shrugs, humming out a short, almost affirmative sound.

“And she said no?”

“No, she was... fine with it.” 

Henry frowns. “Then what happened?”

Regina carefully draws in a deep breath. Her fingers tremble as she struggles with tucking away a single strand of hair. “Henry, you know I have a very close relationship to your mother. It’s something that I cherish very deeply. We -- we share a life together,” She clears her throat, and tries for nonchalance, staring at the paper weight on her desk. “But, you know, when you’re that close to someone for so long, sometimes things ...get complicated, and you want to ask for more, but you don’t want to ruin something good that you have by doing something irrevocable. And you know, it might not sound like it, but feeding off someone can be um... well intimate --”

“Okay,” Henry closes his eyes in a slight grimace. “I think I’m getting the picture.” 

She offers a tight close-mouthed smile, and nods, not looking up from the small paperweight on her desk -- a fine glass apple that Henry had gotten her when he was eight, before he had learned of its significance. 

“Mom,” he sighs finally, and comes to sit in the chair in front of her. He shifts to nudge his boot against her close-toed heels, ducking down like she used to, to meet the level of her eyes. “I think you’re just about the silliest person in this entire town. Second only to maybe Emma.”

“Hey,” Regina starts to say, a little hurt. 

Then Henry sets down his phone, opened on a text from Emma.  _ She still has fangs? It’s been hours. Are you with her now? Does she seem okay?  _

Regina stares down at the text. Then helplessly, she chuckles, and covers her eyes with a hand. “Oh, Emma,” she sighs, and feels her fondness expand hugely, to the very corners of herself. 

“Yeah,” Henry smiles back, his fondness reflected in her own.

* 

Not so long after, Regina finds herself putting on her coat and walking out into the cool, brisk air towards the Sheriff station. The evening is deepening in the corners of the sky, reflecting back in square windows the pale, cold shine of stars. She steps quickly into the entryway of the station, and though she knows how to be quiet in heels, Emma still looks up the moment she enters, as if she could feel the air change the moment Regina enters it. 

Emma sighs upon seeing her. It does not look like a particularly happy sigh, and feeling the sharp rebuke, Regina slows. 

“Hey.” Emma says. Her voice is flat, to the point. Though the air is warm and stuffy, that thin blue scarf is still wrapped neatly around her neck.

“Hi,” Regina answers softly, and halts right outside Emma’s office like some archaic vampire cliche, waiting to be invited in. It doesn’t take long to feel absolutely ridiculous, and so she steps inside only a beat later, closing her arms around her chest. “So,” she offers a tentative smile, unsure of how to go about her plans. “How are you?”

Emma gives her a little wary look. “I’m fine?” she says. “Just working.”

“Good,” Regina nods. There is a tense, awkward pause, surprisingly social, as if they were two new acquaintances that had run out of pleasant things to say. It’s not a great feeling -- in fact it’s awful -- but the idea of just coming out and saying it, to pursue finally the long-held, hopeless dream of her feelings being returned is quite simply too terrifying. 

With a slight purse of her lips, Regina glances down at the elegant curve of Emma’s neck where, in spite of the cleverly improvised scarf, she can still see the marks she had made with her mouth. 

“You know,” she says, and has to clear her dry throat. “I can heal these if you want,” she says, and very gently touches the back of Emma’s neck, where she can nearly touch with the side of her forefinger the tender mark of her kiss.

“No,” Emma says firmly, and gives Regina a look so flat that her hand retracts without her knowledge, curling up at her side instead. 

“Ah.” she says quietly. “Alright.”

Another silence passes. Emma doesn’t appear to have any plans to go back to work, but she’s not looking at Regina either. She keeps tapping a pen cap idly against the edge of the desk, and remains slumped over her report -- which might have convinced a mere passerby that their Sherif was busily reading, but not Regina. 

After a moment, Emma unexpectedly clears her throat, and asks, without looking up. “Is the hunger getting pretty bad?” 

“It’s fine,” Regina manages.

Down the hall, David could be heard whistling. He is merely making rounds, on his way back from the breakroom to head home. The wind outside is picking up, blowing the stems of thin, hardy flowers against the windowpanes as the light outside turns violet.

When Emma looks up at her again, it’s with an harsh, wounded expression. She draws in a deep breath, and holds it in her chest, as if to give it time to detangle itself from the emotion in her heart.

But when she speaks, it’s full of it, “I just don’t get --” she breaks off, and sighs. Her voice is a deeply clotted sound. “Why didn’t you want it to be me?” she asks.

“I --” Regina comes up short, suddenly breathless. A course little laugh leaves her.  _ Be truthful,  _ she thinks _. Now is your moment. This is why you came here. Say you did want her - say you still do. _

But just at that moment, the phone rings. Emma lets out a heavy-sounding breath, and wipes her face as she turns back to her desk, picking it up. She listens in, her eyes still closed as if she needs to block out everything around her just to focus on the single thing outside of it.

“Yeah, okay,” Emma finally sighs. “I’ll be right there.”

A nervous flutter fills Regina’s chest. “Where are you going?” she asks, and follows Emma around the desk, moving out towards the coat rack.

“There’s a few teens at the high school grounds, drinking or smoking or whatever,” Emma says with a gruff sigh. She has become more solid in her role as Sheriff in the last few years, subsuming the full position from her father to better adjust the balance of what should be punished and what should be let go. She slides her heavy coat over her shoulders, and quickly wipes at her eyes with the side of her palm. “But uh, feel free to stay here. Mulan should be arriving soon. You’ll love her. She’s a whole lot funnier than me, and smarter, too. Get her to help you out.”

_ “Emma.”  _

But Emma is already on her way out. Before she’s gone completely, however, Regina is at her heels, bustling out into the cool, arctic evening, stepping on the stairs just as Emma is stepping off them 

“Hey!” Regina snaps, and struggles to keep up with Emma’s long legs. “Emma, slow down.”

“No,” Emma grunts.

Regina grimaces, but doesn’t quit. Mulishly, she follows Emma through the rough mile of gravel and patchy green grass toward the high school, holding her arms tight around her chest to keep from shivering. Scraps of soft purple clouds hurry across the sky, bringing in the smell of cooling nights and wet grass. Across the empty lot of grass, Regina can see mullioned bulk of the gym, and beyond that, the football field. Some type of school- sport is practicing on the field, the deep red of their team sweaters swimming in the bustling air. 

“Emma,” Regina sighs, at last. She snatches at the sleeve of Emma’s jacket.  “Will you please just stop?”

‘No,” Emma grumbles, but the line of her shoulders sinks, slowing her down a little, like a sail that’s lost its wind. She huffs, and nods out toward soft black where cigarettes flare. “I gotta go scare off these silly kids.” 

Regina glances towards the asphalt square, where tall, ragged pine trees stand just outside the lights of the football field. She sighs, and gently grips Emma’s elbow. “Just forget about the kids for a second, okay?” she rubs her hand up and down the bend of Emma’s arm. In the faint light, she watches the side of Emma’s face for any signs of her softening. “Please? Will you look at me?”

“No,” Grumbling, Emma frowns and pitches her eyes somewhere in the black corner of the field. “And these kids are being dumb -- they’re underage, they shouldn’t be smoking or drinking.”

Still rubbing her arm, Regina smiles. “You did both of those when you were a kid.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma raises her shoulders in a gruff shrug. “I was young and dumb. I shouldn’t have been doing it either.” 

“Okay,” Regina acquiesces, and accepts that if this conversation is going to go anywhere, she needs to take the lead. Affectionately, she takes both sides of Emma’s arms, squeezes the roughened leather in her hands. “We can scare those silly kids 0ff in a bit,” she assures, and rubs her hands up and down Emma’s arms, warming her up. “But I need you to look at me.”

At last, Emma sighs, and drags her eyes back. “What?” She asks, a little snappish, but her face is red from the cold, and her eyes are rheumy and bright.

With a soft, affectionate hand, Regina raises hand to Emma’s cheek. She waits for Emma to accept the touch before pressing with any sort of weight, which she does with a surprised blink of her eyes, softening helplessly.

“I’m sorry for today,” Regina says quietly, with a little smile. “And not only because I left you to fend for yourself in the middle of a ladies room with a bunch of hickies on your neck,” she chuckles and gently thumbs the curve of Emma’s cheek. “But also for hurting you. I spent my whole day worrying over how I might end up hurting our friendship, and in the end, all I did was make you doubt how much you matter to me.”

Emma’s cheeks reddeen. “I mean, I never doubted -- I know I matter to you.”

Regina looks at her intently. The wind blows Emma’s hair into her face, which is thoughtlessly tucked away. If ever there is a moment to be brave, Regina thinks, it would be now.

Tilting her head, Regina leans in to speak directly against Emma’s ear, close enough to elicit a shiver. “Do you know how much?” she whispers.

Emma swoons a little closer in her arms. “What?” she asks, shakily matching her volume.

“You couldn’t,” Regina continues quietly. Just like before, her hands become fists at the collar of Emma’s jacket, pulling her closer. “You couldn’t possibly know how many times I’ve thought of kissing you. How it’d feel to be with you. Whenever you pulled me into a hug, I’ve imagined just --” she drops her hands and slides them around Emma’s back, smoothing up to press her closer. “Holding on to you. For as long as I can.”

Emma’s breath is getting shaky, tumbling hot and fast against her neck. Her heart is beating fast, sending between their two bodies the sound, surety of her ribs. 

“I’ve wanted us, for so long,” she whispers. The smell of Emma’s skin, so close, is giving Regina a buzz -- making her woozy and warm -- but she pushes it back, gathering her fingers together at the back of Emma’s neck, where things are more solid. “I still do. I want you so much.” 

Emma releases a deep, shaky breath before reaching out with both hands to cradle Regina’s jaw, pulling them together into a sudden kiss. 

The kiss is a little frantic at first -- too new, too needy for each other to take the time to be anything but rough -- but as the moments go pass, something in them slows, softens. Releasing a trembling breath, she slides a hand up to Emma’s cheek again, and leans in again, meeting the urgency with her own softness, elongating each press of her lips until they're both just breathing against each other, kissing softly. 

Emma pulls back first, but doesn’t go very far. She leans in, pressing her forehead against Regina’s neck, warming her chest with her soft, shaky breathing. 

“You can, you know,” Emma emits a breathless little laugh, and curls her fingers into Regina’s hair, near the base of her skull. “Bite me.”

Immediately, her throat spasms, remembering her hunger. But, in spite of everything, Regina still pitches a glance to the football field with a frown, muttering, “Here? But there’s people around. Can’t we -?” 

“Regina,” Emma laughs, incredulously. “You were literally going to take me in the ladies room. What could you possibly have against the back of the football field?”

“Well, we have an audience,” Regina sighs with exasperation and gives a look over Emma’s shoulder to the soft black where the teenagers are still smoking, undoubtedly looking out at them. “The bathroom was at least private.”

“Oh yeah, it was just luxurious.” Emma affectionately nuzzles her nose against Regina’s neck. But, sensing the need for accommodation, Emma zips her jacket open and tows Regina in close, wrapping her arms around her as if they were merely two mothers huddling close together to keep the other warm on the edge of a football field. “Better?” she asks, smiling.

“Sure,” Regina whispers, mostly because she’s forgotten her point. This close, the warmth of Emma’s skin is almost overwhelming, making her feel warm and drowsy, like when the midday sun fills her office after lunch, turning the whole space bright and spangly, making work impossible. Her throat throbs in quiet agony as she turns her head toward the strong, thrumming pulse in Emma’s neck, sucking the skin into her mouth. 

When she bites her, her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head in pleasure; but somewhat more impressive is the way Emma’s arms immediately tighten around her, nearly crushing her between her arms and the expansion of her chest, constantly filling with even shakier breaths. 

It only takes a minute at most, for the somewhat frenzied sucking to slow, and finally gives away to just loud, uneven breathing as her fangs gradually recede to just teeth.

They breathe quietly for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. And then, as their hearts gradually slow, calming, Regina feels something of a helpless laugh bubbling up in her chest. 

“Oh my god,” Regina sighs, and though it’s nowhere near what she wants to say, she can’t seem to stop herself. “You know, Zelena mentioned you might have a thing with biting.”

A three-beat silence passes.

And then Emma snorts. “Your sister is the biggest idiot in this town,” Emma says, breathlessly as she rests her cheek against the soft slope of Regina’s shoulder. “But she made one hell of a good guess on this, I’ll give her that.” 

Regina laughs, and holds Emma tighter. Somehow, of all the strange, impossible things about today, her sister being  _ right  _ seems to have made it to the top of the list. Well. Maybe she’ll tell her one day.  _ Or not _ , Regina thinks with a warm little smile, and leans down for another kiss.


End file.
